


What Love Aimed At

by allyndra



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-04 10:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieron isn't what most people would think of when they pictured an excited bride. (Schmoopy PWP set in the brief, shining time between telling Myra about the engagement and Craig's appearance.) Written for gigitrek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Love Aimed At

Kieron remembered when he was a boy, his sister would take any bit of lace she came across – the curtain in their grandmother's dining room, the lace tablecloth Aunt Delia never used when she knew there would be children at table, their mother's slip – and drape it over her head like a veil.

"This is what I'll look like," she'd say, "when I'm a bride." She would twirl about looking like an idiot with lace drooping across her forehead, and Kieron would snort and roll his eyes. And sometimes chase her through the house until the lace fell from her head and she was shrieking at him.

He'd never seen the point of looking ahead to the misty someday of a possible wedding. He'd certainly never expected to get married himself. Even then, long before he knew he was gay, he'd never pictured himself with a wife and children.

So he didn't expect it, this excitement. The rush of joy and anticipation he got, thinking about marrying John Paul. Maybe it was _because_ he'd never expected to get married; the newness of it made his head spin sometimes. He couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop turning over plans for the ceremony and the honeymoon in his mind.

He wasn't about to start wearing doilies on his head, but he'd catch himself holding clothes and scraps of paper up to his face as he looked in the mirror, wondering what color his tie should be. He thought blue, perhaps. A slate blue like John Paul's eyes. He shook his head at his own sentimentality, but he still wrote "Ties – slate blue?" in the notebook he'd started for wedding ideas.

John Paul didn't seem as caught up in the excitement as Kieron was, but Kieron wasn't bothered. It would have been too much, probably, had they both been buzzing about full of suggestions for flowers and honeymoon trips. John Paul would come around. Every time someone asked him if he was sure - Niall, Myra, Kieron himself – John Paul lifted his chin stubbornly and said yes. He loved Kieron and he wanted to marry him. So long as John Paul was sure, Kieron could go on being the only one who was worried about keeping Mercedes from getting into a row at the reception.

Kieron was sitting on the sofa sorting through travel pamphlets when John Paul came home. Kieron smiled at him and felt a familiar, comfortable warmth in his chest when John Paul smiled back and came to sit beside him. Kieron set his pamphlets and papers aside to make room.

"Honey, I'm home," John Paul said lightly, dropping onto the sofa beside Kieron. He leaned close, not for a kiss, but to press his face into the crook of Kieron's neck. Like Kieron's warmth and scent were a comfort after a day at college. Kieron wrapped his arms around John Paul's shoulders. "What are you up to?" John Paul asked against Kieron's neck.

"I was looking at the travel brochures again. I do think the trip to Tanzania would be perfect," he said. Wrapped around John Paul, Kieron could feel when he tensed. "But we don't have to decide right now."

John Paul relaxed a bit and nodded, his hair brushing against Kieron's jaw. "Good," he said. "I don't want to decide anything today. You choose what to eat and what to do tonight, and I'll let you pull me along."

"Oh, really?" Kieron smirked. "I get to decide everything?" He stroked one hand lightly down John Paul's back, tracing over the curve of his spine. "So if I told you that Niall was out, and that he wouldn't be back for hours, you'd have no opinion on how we should spend our evening?"

John Paul shifted, arching just a fraction into Kieron's touch. "No opinion whatsoever," he said.

"That's too bad," Kieron said. His hand teased at the small of John Paul's back, his fingertips slipping under the waistband of John Paul's trousers. "I suppose we should just have a quiet night in, then. Watch the Proms on the telly, eat the sausage casserole your mum brought round." He slid his hand down farther, cupping as much of his arse as he could reach. "As you've no opinion, you wouldn't mind that, right? Nice, boring evening."

John Paul turned his head so he could kiss Kieron's throat. "You're a bad man," he said, licking at the patch of bristles that Kieron always missed when he shaved, just under his chin.

"Oh?" Kieron asked mildly. "Did you have some objection to the idea?" He ran his other hand up John Paul's chest. He didn't pause at John Paul's nipple, just brushed his fingers right over it and up across his collarbone. John Paul made a disappointed noise, and when Kieron's hand moved back down his chest, John Paul pressed closer, trying to get firmer contact. "I thought you didn't care."

John Paul sat up and glared, and Kieron pulled his hands away. John Paul's hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed, so his glare wasn't terribly threatening. "I've changed my mind," he said. "I'm making all of the decisions. Take off your shirt." He yanked his own top off as he said it.

Kieron grinned and followed suit. "Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"

John Paul knelt up on the sofa and straddled Kieron's lap. "Put your hands back on me," he said.

"I love it when you're authoritative," Kieron said, smiling into a kiss. He said it jokingly, but it was true. Kieron had spent so much of his life following the dictates of the church that it was difficult for him to pursue his own desires sometimes, even now. When John Paul knew exactly what he wanted and said so, Kieron didn't have to doubt. Didn't have to wonder if he deserved this, if it was worth the pain and ostracism. When John Paul wanted him like this, Kieron wanted him back, and it was all so easy.

Kieron splayed his hands across John Paul's chest. It was narrow and smooth, and it should remind Kieron of just how young John Paul was, but it didn't. It reminded him of how many times they'd done this before, and it made him achingly grateful that they'd have years more. He was past teasing. He circled his thumbs over John Paul's nipples until they drew tight and hard. When he pinched one, John Paul gasped against his mouth and fumbled at the buttons and zippers on their trousers. Kieron groaned as John Paul's hands pressed against his erection.

It shouldn't be this fast, shouldn't be this desperate. It had been so long since Kieron had had this – so long since he'd wanted it – that he may have forgotten, but surely he wasn't supposed to _need_ this much. Now that they were settled and committed, now that he had John Paul in his bed at night and at his breakfast table every morning, now that their socks sat together in the laundry hamper. Surely now Kieron wasn't meant to yearn up into John Paul's touch. But oh, he did.

John Paul shoved their trousers and pants out of the way far enough that he could grasp their cocks in his hands. He pulled at them roughly, kissing Kieron all the while. Kieron moaned low in his throat and tried not to thrust now that John Paul had a rhythm. _Want_ surged through him, made him bite at John Paul's mouth, pull at his nipples. When his orgasm crashed over him, it was hot and fierce, and John Paul came a few strokes later.

Kieron let his head fall back, breathing hard. He couldn't claim that there had been no appeal in the secrecy of their early relationship. Clandestine meetings, adrenaline, and fear all made for intense sex. But this … having sex in their own flat, still half dressed, and with the world knowing that he loved this man? Was the most incredible thing Kieron had ever known.

He didn't feel at all hypocritical or blasphemous when he thanked God for it.

"Mmmm," John Paul made a satisfied noise and rolled so that he fell off of Kieron's lap and onto the sofa. "That was fun." He looked beautiful, with his chest bare and his trousers open, smiling lazily at Kieron. He stretched and nudged Kieron with his foot. "You said mum brought by a casserole?"

"She did," Kieron said. "Her specialty, she said. But we can have something else, if you like."

"No, no," John Paul said. "I'm done making decisions. My last one was so brilliant that I've retired for the night."

Kieron chuckled. "Then I decide that we use your shirt for clean up." He snagged John Paul's t-shirt from the floor and dragged it over his belly, smirking when John Paul squawked in protest. He handed the shirt to John Paul so he could wipe his hands, and stood up. "I'll heat some of the casserole," he said, bending to drop a kiss on the top of John Paul's head.

He glanced at John Paul as pulled out the dish that Myra had brought from the refrigerator. John Paul was curled up on the sofa, looking a bit drowsy and more relaxed than he had in days. Kieron wanted to see him like this forever, and his heart throbbed at the idea that he could. That he would.

He'd never understood his sister's hazy daydreams of a wedding to an imaginary groom, but Kieron couldn't wait to marry this specific man. The paperwork would say 'civil partner,' but Kieron's heart would say husband.

It already did.


End file.
